


Nakeder Spike

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-09
Updated: 2009-04-09
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Spike gets hit by a spell.  Again.  And asks Angel for help.  He gets more help than he'd hoped for. ;)





	Nakeder Spike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seductivembrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/gifts).



> This is a moderator challenge from **nekid_spike**.
> 
> For **seductivembrace** who asked:  
>  _Might I have a Spike/Angel ficlet, please? Any genre is fine, but after having him wear clothes for one. Whole. Day. (Srsly, what was Ash thinking?), I think he's overdue having them gone._  
>  Okay, hope this works for you - I was in a somewhat silly mood!
> 
> Angel/Spike, ATS Season 5, let's call this not-worksafe, but it's a very soft R.

Angel looked forward to the end of his work day, for a few quiet moments alone in the apartment, a glass of blood, a glass of scotch, the next chapter in the book he was reading: just a few minutes of peace before the second-shift disasters and going out to save the day.

He could almost taste the whiskey, smell the Victorian bond paper, the gentle dust of age…

And Spike, actually. He paused in his doorway, frowning. Spike’s duster was thrown across Angel’s favorite chair and he could smell just a whiff of burned leather and Spike. “Spike? Get out of here!”

Just the top of a bleached-blonde head poked up behind the chair. “Peaches, don’t get mad. I got hit with a spell and I just need to hide here for a bit.”

Angel huffed, seeing his “me time” going up in smoke. “What are you hiding…”

As he strode toward the chair, Spike crawled around it, now crouching behind the far arm. His neck and shoulders were bare. Angel tilted his head. “Are you naked?”

Spike rested his head briefly on the chair-arm between his hands, exposing his nape. (Damn Angel always found napes attractive. Even before he bit them.)

“Bollocks,” Spike said, and sighing stood up. “Yeah, so… keep that secretary of yours the hell away from the magic books, yeah?”

His posture was bashful, head bowed while one arm scratched his neck, the other hand lying against his thigh.

Angel swallowed a thick lump in his throat that seemed to slide all the way down his torso and lodge in his cock. He shook his head quickly and frowned. “Why are you naked?”

Spike rolled his eyes and held out a hand. “Give me your shirt.”

Angel started to say, “No, I won’t give you my shirt you jerk!” He opened his mouth to say it, anyway, but then an image flooded his mind – Spike, looking kind of shy and nervous, naked except for Angel’s over-large maroon dress shirt.

He couldn’t get it off fast enough. He tried to cover up his enthusiasm by tossing the wadded-up silk at Spike contemptuously. “Here. Cover yourself. No one wants to see… that.”

Another lump of lust landed in his groin with a thud as he considered all the parts of Spike he “didn’t” want to see.

Spike sighed and looked down at the shirt in his hand with resignation. “Now pay attention, Liam. Not going to do this twice.” He swung the shirt over his shoulders and shrugged into it.

As soon as Spike had both his arms in the sleeves, the sickly, sweet smell of burning silk filled the air. Angel watched horrified as the shirt started to decompose on Spike’s skin, falling in darkened flakes.

He ripped what was left of it off of him. “What did you do?” He looked at the small handful of material left, flaking and crackling on the edges as he shook it. “This was… this was MY shirt!”

A brief smile flitted over Spike’s forlorn expression. “Yeah, that was worth it. Can’t wear a stitch. Moment I put anything on, it’s fashion flambé.” He gestured at the duster on the chair. “I only just got that off in time. Rivets on my jeans melted.” He shuddered. “So… mind if I just… hang around up here until this fixes itself? I called Percy. He wasn’t in but I left voicemail. I’m sure he’ll figure something out.”

And then Spike walked over to the liquor cabinet. He bent over slightly to open it and pulled out a decanter. Sniffed it, put it back, and selected another. “Obviously, I wasn’t keen on giving the whole building a show.”

Angel ran into his bedroom and picked up the phone on the nightstand. “Harmony? Did you put a spell on Spike to burn up his clothes?”

“Okay, I can totally explain this one, Bossy. See, Wes left his big book on my desk and, I mean, he didn’t say I couldn’t look at it. And I was talking to my fr… I mean, I was working hard, and flipping the pages, and how am I supposed to know you can't read stuff out loud?”

Angel felt a familiar pinching feeling between his eyes that he always felt when talking to Harmony for more than two words. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Is Wes on the case?”

“Mr. Windham-Pryce is out of the office already. Should I call him at home?”

There was that pain again – like a little bird trying to peck its way out of his brain. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

“Okay, Bossy. I’ll give him a call before I head out for the day. Uh… you did say I could leave at five thirty, remember?”

“Yes. Fine. But tell Wes to HURRY.”

Spike padded into the archway that separated bedroom from living room, a drink in his hand. “Now you’ve got a taste of what _my_ day was like.”

Angel slammed the phone down. “Could you at least put a towel around your waist?”

“Can’t. Towels, sheets, blankets: all burn right up. Uh – you might want to call housekeeping for more washcloths.” He tilted his head in annoyance at Angel’s glower. “A bloke has to experiment, doesn’t he? Thought I could drape one, you know, like over the faucet.” He touched his tongue to his teeth.

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Come on, Peaches. Have a heart.”

“Why? You _like_ being naked.”

Spike gave him a withering look and turned back into the living room.

Angel wanted to think about what that look was about, but instead he found himself just staring at the sway of Spike’s bare bottom as he walked.

By the windows, sunlight raking over his sculpted body, Spike tossed back the last of his glass and set about re-filling it. “Give it up, Peaches. I can smell your stiffy.”

Angel glanced down. Oh. He cleared his throat and tried to sound menacing. “I don’t have time for you to prance around laughing at me because I’m human enough to react to a naked body. Go hide somewhere else.”

Spike sat on the arm of the couch and looked down into his drink. “I’m not comfortable, all right?”

Spike looked pretty darn comfortable to Angel. “You came up here to seduce me, didn’t you?”

“Silly me, I forgot for half a minute that everything is about you.” Spike rolled his eyes. “It’s like the soul, all right? Maybe there’s something to that ‘they knew then they were naked’ bollocks.”

He crossed his legs, resting the whiskey glass on his knee, looking out the window with a vulnerable expression.

Now Angel _knew_ he was being seduced. The little shit knew how he liked vulnerability and innocence and…

Angel strode up to Spike, snatched the whiskey glass away from him (that was Waterford crystal and he was NOT letting it get broken). He tossed back the double-shot, set it carefully on top of the liquor cabinet and, with a determined glower, tackled Spike onto the couch.  
Angel had intended to fight. He really, really had. He was going to hit Spike with his fists. Just as soon as he stopped running his hands over his naked flesh, and wrested his lips away from Spike’s mouth.

At first Spike’s mouth was pressed shut, his hands pushing against Angel as though to ward him off, but as they rolled off the couch and into a patch of sunlit carpet, his mouth opened, and his hands were clinging to Angel’s shoulders, rubbing up and down over the muscles.

Angel was grinding his crotch down, but didn’t care, there was something wholly decadent about being fully clothed and touching bare skin. Spike’s foot was running up and down Angel’s left calf, rucking the pant-leg up.

They bumped into the windows and broke the kiss to laugh.

“Thanks, Peaches,” Spike said, and kissed him on the nose jokingly. “Don’t know what I was in a tissy over. Feels just right being naked now.” He flexed his hips against Angel’s in testimony.

Angel’s hand wrapped around Spike’s hip and his fingers dug in, holding him still. His eyes were slit very narrow and slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted.

Spike swallowed. “Uh… Peaches?”

A growl started deep in Angel's chest and his shoulders shifted like a panther about to strike. Spike's shocked expression twitched nervously into a grin, and then he whooped and darted across the room.

Angel's smile broadened. It was always more fun to have to chase.

***

The phone rang. Angel moved a lax hand off his chest and rolled to pick it up. “Uh… hello?”

“Angel. It’s Wesley. Harmony said I should call you?”

“Wha? Oh. The thing.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Listen, did you check your voicemail yet?”

“No. I was rather hoping there wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Uh, actually…” Angel looked back at Spike’s sleeping form draped nude over the blankets. He picked up the phone and crept over to the window. “Spike left you a joke voicemail. I yelled at him for it. Just ignore it, okay?”

“It’s hardly necessary to send an urgent message to tell me Spike’s been up to his pranks again. I was having a delightful dinner with Fred.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just, I was afraid you’d act on the fake spell-casting he was talking about. Magic is, um, always dangerous. Good night, Wes.”

“Good night, Angel.”

Yes, yes it was. Angel put the phone back carefully and did a very small, dignified and quiet, victory dance.

Then he slipped back into bed with the soft, smooth, very naked Spike.


End file.
